Panhandle
Title
Panhandle
Creator
Ashley Marquez
Date
10/3/2003
Text
When people bring up the infamous city of Miami, they usually envision the proud night-life that doesn’t sleep until 3 in the morning. They think about the mojitos waiting for them by the bar or the beautiful beaches on our shore. Miami has a stereotype to its name that attracts all these people searching for fun, but us inhabitants know that Miami despite its touristy features, is anything but. Some of us even agree that there’s more Cubans than tourist attractions.
Despite, we still rep the (305) with pride.
Driving through Calle Ocho brings all elderly Hispanics dreams to life. You have a coffee vendor at every corner offering a “Cafecito,” while all the viejitos surround the side window. You have countless travel agencies that will ship money or items to any Spanish speaking country. My family resided in the more centralized part of Calle Ocho, right where all the “fresh off the boat,” Cubans generally moved to. Even if you lived at the end of the block, you can hear someone’s mother yell, “Mira muchacho, si tu no recoges ese cuarto ahora! Ha!” In spite of all the norms most Hispanic children are familiar with, holidays were always something I enjoyed in my block. Everyone gathered outside, usually at my house since it was at the corner of Calle Ocho. All the viejita’s would get their bucket full of water and fling it onto the street as soon as the clock hit 12 AM on New Year’s. As a child you make fun of these sorts of things and you feel so certain that these superstitions were just generational inheritance.
My grandmother would always pull me aside the first couple of weeks of the new year to “talk to me about something important.”
Her urgency was always to get me into religion and spirituality. Something that I never gravitated towards. Many times, in school I had seen santeros being made fun of. They were always called freaks or dangerous because of a rumor that chickens were being beheaded. My family was never shy of their religion. Even though in my teenage head it was a form of embarrassment to me, I didn’t have any solid reason to not want to be involved. My mom used to do egg cleanses and all that mumbo-jumbo, but she never made it a point for it to be explicitly in my life. It wasn’t until 8th grade that I realized it was more normal than I had noticed. There was suddenly an increase in kids at my school wearing a green and yellow bracelet. One day afterschool it had finally occurred to me that I shouldn’t have to be a part of something just because my whole family was. I never wanted to indulge in those activities because it felt obligatory.
Feeling obligated to do something is something none of us enjoy.
That feeling of sudden distaste and judgement is what lots of groups within the Hispanic community felt during the pandemic while political elections were in motion. Culture and race are prevalent subjects in Miami, but also play a key role in politics. We all want to know whether that accent is from Mexico or Chile. We all want to know if you came from a boat or plead for political asylum because somehow one over the other makes you more of a victim. During the pandemic, Miami felt the division of Hispanics that didn’t care about the mask mandate, and just because of this simple action you were automatically classified as a Trump supporter. If you didn’t side with Biden, you weren’t a valid Hispanic person. Awareness of political discrimination wasn’t something known until suddenly almost everyone was invested in who you voted for. The division was felt in social aspects, but hit most in relationships with family members. Weeks would go where cousins that used to spend all day together, suddenly stopped talking because of who they politically resided with.
The culture shock came after the fact.
Coming back to school after the pandemic was especially hard since everyone in Miami is so aesthetically invested even though we aren’t to blame since our grandparents always hit us with that, “Ay niño, estas muy gordo. No puedes comer chucheria todos los dias!” And then proceed to feed you a big plate of rice and beans. Still, some people looked the same while others looked like their prime days were no longer a thing. Old friends had gained weight that they swore they would lose before homecoming and others accepted themselves. Some of my friends had the most moisturized long hair that ended up becoming short from bleach damage and brittle. The sudden extroverted change in style felt like the 2000’s emo phase was making a come-back until you sat outside in the 98 weather of Miami and all the makeup melts away.
With all the Latino spice in the air, it makes Miami hotter than it already is. Still, Miami doesn’t disappoint. We bring a lot of diversity to the table that most will pass on since they can’t handle it. Our stories, and our ancestors stories, all started in Miami and we have lifetimes to continue writing ours.
Despite, we still rep the (305) with pride.
Driving through Calle Ocho brings all elderly Hispanics dreams to life. You have a coffee vendor at every corner offering a “Cafecito,” while all the viejitos surround the side window. You have countless travel agencies that will ship money or items to any Spanish speaking country. My family resided in the more centralized part of Calle Ocho, right where all the “fresh off the boat,” Cubans generally moved to. Even if you lived at the end of the block, you can hear someone’s mother yell, “Mira muchacho, si tu no recoges ese cuarto ahora! Ha!” In spite of all the norms most Hispanic children are familiar with, holidays were always something I enjoyed in my block. Everyone gathered outside, usually at my house since it was at the corner of Calle Ocho. All the viejita’s would get their bucket full of water and fling it onto the street as soon as the clock hit 12 AM on New Year’s. As a child you make fun of these sorts of things and you feel so certain that these superstitions were just generational inheritance.
My grandmother would always pull me aside the first couple of weeks of the new year to “talk to me about something important.”
Her urgency was always to get me into religion and spirituality. Something that I never gravitated towards. Many times, in school I had seen santeros being made fun of. They were always called freaks or dangerous because of a rumor that chickens were being beheaded. My family was never shy of their religion. Even though in my teenage head it was a form of embarrassment to me, I didn’t have any solid reason to not want to be involved. My mom used to do egg cleanses and all that mumbo-jumbo, but she never made it a point for it to be explicitly in my life. It wasn’t until 8th grade that I realized it was more normal than I had noticed. There was suddenly an increase in kids at my school wearing a green and yellow bracelet. One day afterschool it had finally occurred to me that I shouldn’t have to be a part of something just because my whole family was. I never wanted to indulge in those activities because it felt obligatory.
Feeling obligated to do something is something none of us enjoy.
That feeling of sudden distaste and judgement is what lots of groups within the Hispanic community felt during the pandemic while political elections were in motion. Culture and race are prevalent subjects in Miami, but also play a key role in politics. We all want to know whether that accent is from Mexico or Chile. We all want to know if you came from a boat or plead for political asylum because somehow one over the other makes you more of a victim. During the pandemic, Miami felt the division of Hispanics that didn’t care about the mask mandate, and just because of this simple action you were automatically classified as a Trump supporter. If you didn’t side with Biden, you weren’t a valid Hispanic person. Awareness of political discrimination wasn’t something known until suddenly almost everyone was invested in who you voted for. The division was felt in social aspects, but hit most in relationships with family members. Weeks would go where cousins that used to spend all day together, suddenly stopped talking because of who they politically resided with.
The culture shock came after the fact.
Coming back to school after the pandemic was especially hard since everyone in Miami is so aesthetically invested even though we aren’t to blame since our grandparents always hit us with that, “Ay niño, estas muy gordo. No puedes comer chucheria todos los dias!” And then proceed to feed you a big plate of rice and beans. Still, some people looked the same while others looked like their prime days were no longer a thing. Old friends had gained weight that they swore they would lose before homecoming and others accepted themselves. Some of my friends had the most moisturized long hair that ended up becoming short from bleach damage and brittle. The sudden extroverted change in style felt like the 2000’s emo phase was making a come-back until you sat outside in the 98 weather of Miami and all the makeup melts away.
With all the Latino spice in the air, it makes Miami hotter than it already is. Still, Miami doesn’t disappoint. We bring a lot of diversity to the table that most will pass on since they can’t handle it. Our stories, and our ancestors stories, all started in Miami and we have lifetimes to continue writing ours.
Citation
ashleym, “Panhandle,” Everything Speaks To Me , accessed September 18, 2026, https://everythingspeakstome.com/items/show/113.